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“Sasha,” Tim whispers, trying not to startle the creature hunched over their breakroom replicator. “Sasha, what the fuck?” “Hmm?” Sasha perks up. “Oh, that’s just Elias’s pet. Don’t worry — it’s tame. Ends up down here from time to time.” The pet. The pet. “Why did no one tell me we had a pet?” Tim asks. “You know, I hear Research has its own shrieking warbler. I’m just saying, we could have an archival pet. Have it move boxes or something.” “Like a library dedfa?” Sasha clicks her beak thoughtfully. “…you know that might actually work. It acts trainable. And it’s pretty cute, you know?” Tim approaches, purring softly just in case it sees him as a threat. And then he trills out a laugh, because it stares uncomprehendingly at him. It raises a slender, clever paw with each of its five digits tipped by blunt, trimmed claws. Its palm is lighter in color — a tan with creasing lines contrasted by the darker, thin brown skin. “Oh my god, Sasha. Look,” Tim takes one of its palms in hand. It protests with an disgruntled huff but lets him handle it. “The thing’s got bastard hands. Tiny little thief paws.” Elias’s pet warbles plaintively, as if to protest Tim’s accusations. “Oh yeah, you definitely commit crimes in your downtime,” Tim laughs, tail flicking with glee. “God, this almost makes me want to come into work.” “Really? One cute face is all it takes?” Sasha says. Tim releases the poor creature from its bondage, leaving it to do whatever it usually does with its hands. Turns out, it usually clutches them together. Weird little thing. “Two cute faces, Sasha,” he corrects as he takes a seat next to her. “It takes two cute faces to make me into a happy little worker drone.” “Wow. I’m sure Jon will be glad to hear that.” Tim sighs dramatically, ears drooping as he twists onto his back, draped belly-up over the table. “No one here appreciates me, Sasha. Even you’ve betrayed me.” Sasha reaches over to tap a pen against his chest. “The Ides of Stoker.” Tim stifles a laugh. “Lay me gently to sleep, Sasha. Send my corpse down the river. Tell the story of my people—” Sasha rolls him off the table onto the cold, hard floors. Rude. ~~ “The thing is, Jon, that we are all assets,” Elias explains smoothly. “You, with your excellent memory, are well attuned for archival work. Sasha, with her skill in analysis, fits in quite well with the ship’s more robotic technicians. Tim, with his syrinx, is uniquely suited to diplomacy...” Jon’s jaw clicks as he yawns, pinprick teeth sliding out into the open air. “…I see,” he says, head bowing in deference. “And you, I presume, are ‘meant for’ leadership?” “Oh, suns no!” Elias laughs, jovial and yet somehow impersonal. “No, no, I don’t believe all that. You could say I’m meant for paperwork. Management,” he smiles his usual smile, though it’s tinted by a slightly slyer kind of joy. Like they’re laughing at a shared, private joke. “And, well. I don’t suppose I have to explain what this silly thing is here for?” “You don’t,” Jon responds flatly. “You’ve already said enough about it for one day.” Elias smiles wider. “But I do so enjoy speaking of Martin. You can’t fault me for enjoying the little things in life!” “I can,” Jon sighs, antennae drawing back in a show of disinterest, even as he watches Martin closely. “I can and will judge you, Bouchard.” “Careful, Jonathan,” Elias gently reminds him. “My pet's within ear shot. If it understands…well, that’s debatable at best. But it does pout so.” Martin lets out a shaky, breathless sound around his gag. The clear liquid that always pools within his lips is dripping down his chin. His ears, strangely small as they are, do not so much as twitch while Elias absentmindedly toys with him. Elias smiles, remote in hand as Jon notes the low buzzing sound of a vibrator. “I don't know how you’re not endeared, really. I know you're Lepidopteran, you have a reputation, but surely even you can admit this is cute.” Martin devolves into needy pleas, his eyes wide, wet, and unfocused. Jon sighs. “It’s looking at me again, Elias.” “It likes you. You should be glad — Martin here’s a good judge of character.” He resigns himself, kneeling down to better meet Elias’s pet human. Martin makes a slightly louder squeal, gag muffling a high-pitched wail. His eyes are big and sad. He reminds Jon vaguely of his own dreek back home, in a way, though dreek are much smaller and their coats of fur are much less thin. They don’t have the strange pink lips, either, or the shock of head fur. Less exotic but Jon would take a good dreek over rarer creatures anyday. Even if this is a particularly pretty-looking one. He reaches out to touch soft hair, indulging in a bit of luxury, soft and silken through his fingers. “Hmm. Clean, at the very least,” Jon comments. It twitches at that, expression twisting into something incredulous. “Oh yes, we know, Martin. We’re so mean to you, aren’t we? Just cruel, unusual monsters, making sure your hungry little cunt gets stuffed and feeding you little treats,” Elias coos. Jon wrinkles his nose. God, this man gets weird about his pets. “Say hello to the nice man, little one,” he purrs, in that obnoxious syrupy sweet voice people always use for cute animals. “Come on, Martin. Speak up. Let us hear you.” Jon stifles a smile as Martin does, indeed, speak up. The noise is all incomprehensible, whines and whimpers and yelps, a stream of untranslatable white noise filtered through a gag so that all he can hear is just…adorable nonsense sound. “Good lord, Elias, it’s gagged. Of course it can’t speak.” “Hmm? I’m sorry?” Elias ignores Jon entirely. Bastard. “Was that…a request for more I hear? Why, I think it is! Jon, do you think I should ramp up the vibrations or wait until it starts quivering?” Jon sighs yet again. Rich people and they’re exotic animals. It’s ridiculous. “I think…it’s an animal making mouth noises at us,” he gently informs Elias. “And I’m fairly sure it isn’t all that meaningful.” “Nonsense,” Elias snorts. “Martin speaks plenty. Don’t you, pretty thing?” Martin responds by shrieking as Elias thumbs at the remote. Jon can’t quite tell if the vibrations got stronger or if Martin’s started cumming again. It might well be both. Fascinating as Martin is…they do have real work to be doing. Jon needs them back on track. “So, Elias, about our travel budget…?” Elias sends him a look as he slinks close to the ground, murmuring something indistinct and condescending into his pet’s ear. “What about it?” “I want to transfer some of those funds into an effective replacement for some of our more outdated tech. We don’t need this much travel money,” Jon explains. “It's been decades since Gerttrude was in charge and nowadays FTL travel is simply less expensive. We’re not using jump drives or cryogenic chambers — we’re using warps like civilized folk. And our budget ought to reflect that.” “I see.” “And once again, I absolutely cannot condone Martin’s playing around with delicate filing. He—” “It,” Elias corrects. “Not he.” “It's not authorized to hold delicate paperwork in its greasy, sweaty little palms. We have real jobs to do, Elias, we can't spend half our shift babysitting a stray,” Jon insists. “Is there nowhere else you could send it? Nowhere… safer? Where it won’t bother my employees in the middle of their mealtimes?” It’s Elias sighing this time. “I really don’t control it half as well as you seem to think I do. I try but it’s a nightmare keeping this one calm,” one of his hands reaches down to do something in between the creature’s legs. It writhes on the spot like prey caught in a hunter’s talons. “We’d need an army to keep this one properly satiated and out of trouble.” “Well, we don’t have an army. We have an archive and in case you don’t recall, we also have a job to be doing,” Jon hisses. “Keep it in check Elias.” Elias pauses, thoughtful. “…I could keep its hands bound. That way it doesn’t touch your precious files but it can still sit, talk, be lovely company…” “That…may work,” Jon awkwardly admits. “I told you,” Elias smiles, smooth as water-worn stone. “I’m meant for management. ~~“…I know you’re going to be mad,” Martin says, wide eyes darting nervously around the room. His wide eyes. His intelligent eyes. “But in my defense Elias is really hot and he ran a hard bargain and I like being talked down to so I just…” he shrugs helplessly. “Had him turn off all the human languages in the on-ship translator. And then let him…hire me on as a pet? And legally, you know, he does own me! It counts!” “You are a fully grown, sapient man and you decided to give up your free will for a fucking fetish,” Jon hisses. “You have rights! Legal ones! I — I can help with them? You don’t have to keep — being a pet? To Elias? You…you can think, my god you thought this whole time and I just — and we just — and I helped him, I helped him take away your rights and own you. Good lord, I’m so sorry — there is nothing I can say to make up for it but I’ll do my best to help mitigate the physical and psychological damages, please—” “Jon,” Martin says softly, closer and closer, face pressed up against Jon’s cheek. “Jon, it’s ok. Calm down for me, won’t you? Just…quiet down,” he pauses, hesitant, before grabbing Jon’s hand and settling it down in the softness of his hair. “Would pets help?” Jon strokes through Martin’s hair, feeling a bizarre sense of deja vu. Pets do help. He despises the fact that pets do help and he’s not sure what it says about him as a person but…it helps. The distinct and familiar textures ground him to reality even as his mind tries valiantly to spiral away. “I can’t…believe I did that. And you let me do that. And you currently want me to keep doing that.” “You’re kinda sexy, Jon, I don’t know what to say. You can pet me anytime.” Sexy, Jon thinks, with a vague mix of horror and awestruck pride. I’m sexy? “Aww, your little tail wags,” Martin chirps, bright and happy little giggles. “Honestly, it’s surprising how much you guys remind me of human pets. Dogs and cats. You wouldn’t know those, would you?” Jon stares. Elias’s pet keeps a pet. Pets owning pets. Except he’s not a pet, he’s a fully grown man — and oh, boils and blisters — is this slavery?! “I…do not. Know. Those.” “Sorry,” Martin smiles, teeth on full display, dull and soft and healthy — everything a good pet should be. “I’m not really used to conversations. I used to be good at small talk but — well, then I just…got used to rambling, you know? About everything. Without anyone being able to hear me.” Jon sits down. “You talked. When you…babbled. That was talking.” “Mostly it was begging but I guess you could call the intelligible bits speech,” Martin hums contentedly. “Ooo, lookit your ears. They went down. Aww, don’t be sad, you’re too sexy to be sad, haha!” “I. I need. To think,” Jon says lamely. “I don’t,” Martin boasts, delighted. His little lips part in another toothy grin. Like the relaxed, panting-mouthed expression Jon himself has in his happier moments. Jon had always thought the smiles were some of the cutest parts of Elias’s pet — and that still hasn’t changed, even if he now speaks using actual words. Jon gets cooed at as he stares listlessly into his own hands. He’s heard that very same crooning noise — thought it sounded a bit whiny, even, pleading and adorable in a pitiful dreek-eyed way. But no. That’s Martin’s version of a baby voice. Of a ‘look how cute’ tone. How many times have they cooed at each other? How many times had Martin cooed at him and he didn’t even know? As he combs through his thoughts, he has a second realization. “That time Hopworth came over and Elias talked to you like a person. You were…having a real conversation,” Jon gawks. “That was an actual negotiation, not just a pet owner’s one sided rambling.” “Sort of? Mostly he was just checking for my safeword,” Martin sighs. “Look, Jon. I’m not going back to being a contributing member of society. I already did that for twenty years of my life and then I got to be the pet of a rich alien man who paid off my college debts and my mother’s hospital bill. I’m sick to death of taxes, Jon. I refuse to go back to capitalism.” “You did taxes?!” Jon shrieks. Martin stares. “Not anymore, Jonathan. Not anymore.”